


Hand of Sorrow

by DeikaKanna



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Body Hatred, Dub!Con, FrostIron - Freeform, Intersex Loki, Jotun!Loki, M/M, Odin's A+ Parenting, Other, Steampunk, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Tony Stark Has A Heart, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2509787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeikaKanna/pseuds/DeikaKanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Will all our sins be justified? ..."</p>
<p>He ran. All his life, his brother had done his best to protect him. From the jeering of the other children, who thought it a great game to mock the dark haired, green eyed boy, an oddity among a people known for golden colouring and eyes like the sky. From those who would call him changeling, bastard, freak. From their father's limitless rage and cold indifference. From himself when his unknown heritage manifested in power that would see him executed if discovered.<br/>Until the very end, Thor had tried to shelter him from the world. Until the only protection he could offer was the desperate urge to run! Run!, before he was discovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to make this clear from the very start. This will not be a nice story. This is an exploration into darkness and I'll be pushing myself to go places that you might find uncomfortable or difficult to read. Please pay attention to the tags, I'll be adding more as they become relevant, and will also post appropriate warnings as needed at the beginings of chapters.
> 
> That said, I hope you'll stick with me through this thing and not hate me for it!  
> The title and initial idea for the story came from the song '[Hand of Sorrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N05iUg-0LIU)' by Within Temptation.
> 
> Come say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://deikakanna.tumblr.com/), I have cookies and hugs <3

He ran. Through cold and rain and night. Exhaustion wrapped heavy chains around his ankles and wrists, trying to drag him down. Fear made him blind to his surroundings, he knew not where he was or where he was headed. Desperation and the fierce will to _live_ pushed him onwards when otherwise he might have given up. He ran, as though his feet had grown wings. When he stumbled and fell, grazing the skin from his palms, he grit his teeth, gained his footing and ran on. When thorns reached out to grab him and tangle in his cloak, he tore his way free, leaving behind cloth and blood.

Memory chased him, as surely as the palace guards, snapping at his heels.

~

_The whip hissed as it clove the air, the crack like thunder, the pain a fiery searing across his back. He jerked in his restraints, but did not cry out._

_"One."_

_Head bowed, but eyes raised to meet his brother's clear blue gaze. He saw the guilt there, and the sorrow. Whipcrack. Flesh parted, blood spilled._

_"Two."_

_Fifty lashes, that was the punishment. And he must count each one himself. If he missed a count, the ordeal would begin anew._

_"Three."_

_Hiss. Crack. He flinched, straining against the ropes that bound his wrists to wooden stakes an arm's length from either side of his body._

_"Four."_

_He saw his brother's lips move, but was too far away to hear the words. If he had to guess, he thought it might have been an apology._

_"Five."_

_He held no grudge, no ill will. This was how it had always been. Thor was the prince and he, he was his sword and shield. The whipping boy, ever since they were children. Sometimes he wished he could hate his brother, but how could he hate the only person who loved him? He could not._

_"Six."_

_Pain. Terrible and immediate. His back already felt raw, and the punishment had only just begun. His head sank lower, his eyes closed. The whip struck, coiled around to bite at his ribs._

_"Seven."_

~

He ran. He could feel the wounds, barely given time to clot, reopened from exertion. His back was awash with pain and blood, but he dared not stop. To stop running was to die, and he was not yet ready to take that path. Not while there was yet life in him.

He heard a sound above the pouring rain and the pounding of footsteps. A ragged gasping, a low, keening moan of distress. He realised with dismay that it was his own voice, barely recognisable. His teeth snapped together to cut off the sound. He would not cry out. He would not let them know how badly they'd hurt him.

~

_"Twenty six."_

_Rivers of blood. He could feel it running down his back, tickling unmarked skin, pooling briefly at the waistband of his pants, some to overflow, some to trickle down beneath the form fitting leather. Behind closed eyes was a red haze of pain and his jaw clenched so tightly between counts that he feared his teeth might shatter._

_"Twenty seven."_

_He'd been punished before, whipped countless times, but this was by far the worst. Yet still, he felt no ill will towards his brother. He would hold no grudge. Thor's crime had been to fall in love with a human, and to refuse his father's command to cease all contact with her when he found out. He couldn't be angry with Thor for that. Love was too precious._

_"Twenty eight ..."_

~

He ran. His breath rasped in his throat and his lungs ached. The night closed in around him, heavy and oppressive, trying to choke him. His legs trembled violently and he feared every step would be his last, that the next time his foot touched earth his legs would buckle and he would fall, unable to go on. Somehow, he kept going, kept running. To fall was to die. Dying was not an option.

~

_"Forty ... eight."_

_He hung from the ropes, barely able to support his own weight. His body trembled with pain and fatigue. It had grown cold as the sun began to set and the bite of the chastiser's whip was sharp and merciless on chilled flesh._

_"... Forty ..." He gasped. "Forty nine."_

_His eyes flickered open. He could see his brother still, golden hair like a halo in the dying light. He hadn't looked away, not once. This sentence was carried out for his benefit. The least he could do was bear witness._

_"... -- Fifty ..."_

_A creak of leather, then of rope as he sagged in his bonds. Retreating footsteps, a murmur of voices. His vision blurred. It hurt, even to breathe. He'd done it. He hadn't missed a count. He tried to smile, but his face crumpled and a sob caught in this throat. No. He wrestled with himself, ruthless as the whip. He could not give voice to his anguish. Not here. Not until he was alone._

_"Cut him down." Thor's voice, tight with barely suppressed emotion. "Bring water."_

_Servants cut the ropes and he fell, long legs as weak as a newborn colts'. He lay where he had fallen, slumped on his side, lacking the strength to rise. A gentle hand touched his face. It brushed back a lock of tangled black hair, thumb wiping away the traitorous tear that slipped from the corner of his eye._

_"It's over, brother. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry ..."_

~

He ran. All his life, his brother had done his best to protect him. From the jeering of the other children, who thought it a great game to mock the dark haired, green eyed boy, an oddity among a people known for golden colouring and eyes like the sky. From those who would call him changeling, bastard, freak. From their father's limitless rage and cold indifference. From himself when his unknown heritage manifested in power that would see him executed if discovered.

Until the very end, Thor had tried to shelter him from the world. Until the only protection he could offer was the desperate urge to _run!_ _Run!_ , before he was discovered.

He stumbled and almost fell, catching himself against the trunk of a tree. There he paused, gasping for breath, trembling all over. The rain had soaked into his cloak, making it a heavy burden that weighed him down and stuck to his wounds, but he dared not take it off. Even in darkness, the risk was too great. Should anyone see him and catch a glimpse of blue skin, of ruby red eyes, his life would be forfeit.

~

_He huddled on hands and knees as great, shuddering breaths wracked his body. Every movement was a new study in agony. Fifty lashes, fifty individual gashes cut into his flesh, fifty sources of pain that meshed seamlessly into a gruesome tapestry of hurt._

_Approaching footsteps. The sloshing of water in a bucket. He raised his head and saw the last of the day's sunlight pick out streaks of gold in his brother's hair._

_"Are you ready?"_

_He nodded, unable, or perhaps just unwilling to speak. He drew in a deep breath and held it as Thor picked up the bucket, preparing himself for the sting of cold water. This close to winter, it would be like ice. The bucket upended, water rushed over his back, sending chilly knives into every crevice of split flesh, making his chest constrict and his lungs ache. And deep inside of him, he felt something split open. Not something physical. This was something else, something from within the part of him where his power lay coiled and waiting. Something forbidden. He felt it split, felt the cold seep into his skin and bones, and knew something was wrong._

_The servant who had brought the water gasped. He raised his head to find out what ailed her, and whatever she saw in his face made her shriek and back away in fear._

_"Wait!" Thor called to her, but she was already running. Soon her cries would alert the guard. "Brother." Strong hands gripped his shoulders, dragging him to his feet._

_He almost fell and had to grab Thor's armour to steady himself. The hands that rose into view were not his own. Slender and long fingered, yes, that was normal, but the skin was blue, blue as the sky on a winter's day and his nails were black as pitch. He looked down at himself and was close to panic when he saw the corded blue arms, the narrow blue chest, icy water running in rivulets between small, perky breasts that had no place on his body._

_"What ..." His voice was not quite his own - smoky velvet, but made lighter with fear. "What has happened to me?"_

_He looked up, and caught a blurred flash of reflection in his brother's armour. Frightened red eyes, bright in the half light._

_"Brother --"_

_"Run." A heavy bundle of cloth was shoved into his arms. "Run, before they find you here!"_

_"I don't --"_

_"Loki, run!"_

~

He ran. Ran until he was a quivering mess powered by the fumes of panic alone. When at last that horrible night ended and the sun began to rise, he was so exhausted he could barely stand. His chest heaved painfully and his breath burned in his throat, each lungful of air a battle in itself. He was a hair's breadth from collapse, but still retained the presence of mind to find a hiding place to wait out the daylight hours - a small cave, barely more than an animal burrow, but large enough to wedge his battered body inside, curl into a ball and pray to the Fates that he'd run far enough.

 

He awoke with a jolt of fear, sitting up and banging his head against the low earthen ceiling above him. Pain blossomed and he cursed softly, but he was heartened to know that if he was waking up in this hole in the ground, it meant no one had discovered him. Darkness had fallen once again, turning the forest into a world of black and indigo shadow. Stiff and aching, he crawled out of the den. His back screamed in pained defiance when he straightened up, and he could feel a trickling dampness that meant he'd ripped open the scabbed wounds. At the back of his mind, he knew that if he kept on like this, the gashes would fester and become infected, but he had neither the time nor the means to tend to them. He had to keep going, had to put as much distance between himself and Asgard as possible. If he was caught, the wounds on his back would be the least of his problems.

He ran on. For three more nights he fled through that forest of anguish and terror, stopping only to find shelter and sleep away the daylight hours when the chance of being seen was too great. Pain, exhaustion, thirst and hunger made for slow progress. On the fourth night, when the rain began to fall again it became a struggle simply to put one foot in front of the other. His sodden cloak weighed him down, mud clung to his boots, his pain ravaged body refused to move as it should. Sheer will and determination could only carry a man so far, and several hours after sunset found him barely conscious, lying face down on the forest floor. He trembled violently though he couldn't feel the cold, and every time he opened his eyes the world seemed to sway alarmingly. Better just to lie there with eyes closed, feeling the rain beating down on his back, smelling mud and decaying leaf litter, hearing the soft garble of voices.

He couldn't hear what they were saying. Couldn't quite find understanding in the thought that there shouldn't be voices out here at all. Through the falling rain and the fog in his own mind, he might even have imagined them. But time wore on, the rain eventually eased to a light mist, and the voices gradually grew in volume until they reached a point where they began to irritate him.

_Let me die in peace ..._

After a lifetime of mockery, was it too much to ask for the chance to die peacefully and alone? He didn't want to die at all, but lacking the strength to stand, to continue fighting, he was out of options. He'd reached the end of the line. What was the point of struggling, anyway? Where could he go and expect a different welcome to the one he would have found back home? He was a freak, a monster. Everything the people around him had instinctively known all his life was now manifested in his appearance, clear for all to see. He opened one eye and saw the pale outline of his hand in the darkness.

_Monster_.

He shuddered and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, shifting his body slightly. The movement caused his head to slip over the edge of a shallow ditch, the kind one digs around a tent to drain away rain water. His left ear and eye became submerged in the tiny river, and he found he had neither the strength to move or care. If the Fates were kind, he would be gone soon anyway.

Sudden and unexpected, a man's laughter cut clear through the night. Despair clenched in his chest. Even now, they laughed at him. All he had endured, and it still wasn't enough. Not enough to earn him peace, or even a measure of respect. Angered by the fact that he couldn't even die with dignity, he half lifted his head, flinching as a trail of water trickled down the neck of his cloak. There was no one in sight. But he could still hear the voices and there was something ... He frowned when he realised what it was. Light. A flicker at the edge of his vision, dancing shadows, his hand visible in the darkness. Slowly, painfully, he levered his upper body off the ground and twisted around in the direction of the light, trying to discover its source. A fire. Glimpsed through the dark structures of tents, weak and pale in the rain dampened forest, a fire. He imagined he could almost hear the crackle of flame in wood, smell the smoke. Was it real, or a hallucination brought on by a dying mind?

Again he heard the voices, several of them, louder and clearer than before, and it dawned on him that there were actually people nearby. A camp, only a few metres from where he was lying. That understanding brought on two very conflicting, but equally instinctive responses of self preservation within him. The first was fear, and the need to gain his feet and run, run! People were dangerous and their proximity reminded him that he wasn't yet ready to let death claim him. The second response was an older one, the knowledge that fire meant warmth and people meant safety. They would have food, and could tend to his wounds. There was still a chance to survive.

Indecision threatened to tear him apart. He hesitated and almost committed to flight, but all at once was overcome by a desire to be warm and dry, out of the cold, frightening night and in the company of other people. He didn't care who they were. They could be the heralds of Ragnarok and it wouldn't make any difference. He didn't want to die alone.

Slowly, painfully, he got his knees under him. His body trembled and attempted to rebel against him, but the fire beckoned, and drawing on reserves of strength he hadn't been aware he possessed, he began to crawl towards the camp.

 

 


	2. two

"Right arm, extend. Flex. Lift. Rotate. Good. Left arm."

By the light of a hand held gas lantern, Tony mentally ticked off the functionality checks on the second Mobile Combat Suit. The first prototypes were notorious for becoming glitchy when wet, but so far the Mark II units were withstanding the cursed rains without any major troubles. Lucky, because the last thing they needed was a couple of nine foot piles of scrap metal malfunctioning within Asgardian borders. For some strange reason, the Æsir seemed to consider the testing of the MCS's an open act of hostility. Go figure.

"Okay, arm primary weapon."

A ripple of movement at the periphery of his vision drew Tony's attention away from the suit, to the other side of the camp. Distracted, he signalled to the suit's pilot to hold and raised the lantern a little higher, trying to see what was going on.

Most of the men were on their feet, and the usual jovial banter and exaggerated complaining about the weather had dissolved into an agitated murmur. Some had weapons drawn, and it took a few long moments before Tony was able to make out what had everyone so riled. There on the ground, a dark shape moving slowly towards the fire from the edge of camp. A person, Tony realised, hooded and swathed in a heavy, dark green cloak that obscured all other features. What the hell was someone doing out on a night like this, miles from civilisation?

Suspicion drew his brows down into a frown and he strode across the muddy campsite to investigate. One of his men beat him to it - James Rhodes, his second in command and long time friend. From a short distance away, Tony watched as Rhodes crouched down and helped the cloaked figure to his feet. A man, he decided, judging by the height and width of his shoulders beneath the cloak.

"Hey, you okay?"

The stranger swayed as he gained his footing, automatically reaching out a hand to grasp Rhodes' arm and steady himself. That small movement sent a murmur of defensive unease through the camp and a few more blades were bared as the men prepared for trouble. From behind him, Tony heard an expulsion of steam, a mechanical grinding and the sound of heavy footsteps that came just short of making the ground shake.

_Fucking Hammer ..._

"Stand down, Hammer!" Tony snapped the command at the suit's pilot as the MCS drew abreast of him. He could see the blond asshole in the cockpit, arrogantly ignoring him and watching the scene unfolding at the edge of camp.

"Identify yourself."

Tony's attention was drawn back to the others, just in time to see Rhodes shake off the stranger's hand and take a small step back. There was something odd about that hand. It was hard to tell in the firelight, but the colour seemed off.

"No one important ..." The voice that came from beneath the deep hood was soft and rusty, and sounded like it hurt the man to speak. The words were framed with the careful enunciation of someone not speaking his own language, and held an unmistakable Asgardian accent.

The camp practically bristled with swords, naked blades glinting in the semi darkness as they reflected the firelight.

"I'm going to need you to take off that hood." Tony stepped forward, knowing if he didn't take command of the situation it was going to get bloody.

The stranger turned to look at him and shook his head. "I cannot do that."

Tony flashed a smile, a quick baring of teeth. "I insist."

A moment's hesitation, a slight shifting of weight that betrayed the stranger's intent to flee. Rhodes saw it too, and grabbed the man's arm before he could react, forcing him to his knees and pulling back the hood.

A collective gasp rushed through the camp. The man kept his head bowed and much of his face was covered in mud, but there was no hiding the vivid blue colour of his skin. Or the short black horns that extruded from his brow and curved back over his head.

" _Jotun!_ "

Tony wasn't sure where the stunned whisper came from. His own lips repeated it silently, shocked by the revelation. He couldn't recall the last time anyone had seen one of the blue skinned sorcerers beyond the northern borders of Jotunheim. Ever since their crushing defeat at the hands of the Asgardian army decades ago, they'd withdrawn from the world to the extent that they were almost considered myth rather than a real living people.

So what was this one doing here, far to the south, alone in enemy territory? Assuming he _was_ alone. Frowning, Tony cast his gaze out beyond the borders of the camp, trying to pierce the darkness, searching for hidden watchers. It was futile. The fire night-blinded him and all he could see was looming trees and shadow.

"How many others are with you?" He turned his attention back to the man kneeling on the ground. "What's your purpose in Asgard?"

The man gave a raspy chuckle and raised his head to look straight at Tony, revealing a pair of alarming red eyes. "I could ask the same of you, human."

"Answer the question." Rhodes began to reach out towards the man again, but what he meant to do, Tony never knew.

The Jotun's eyes slid to the side and he _moved_ , quick as lightning, slipping out of reach and gaining his feet in one fluid motion. There he stood in a defensive posture, shoulders hunched, visibly swaying on his feet. The graceful way he moved told Tony the man probably had extensive combat training, but he was also very obviously wounded. Tony eyed the heavy cloak and wondered what lay beneath it. If that hidden injury could be exploited ...

_Thud, thud, crash!_

Tony had time to mentally swear, note the way the Jotun man's eyes widened, then his field of vision was filled with the Mobile Combat Suit as it lurched forward. Gears whirred and grinded, steam spurted from the exhaust and the MCS swung a twelve foot poleaxe overhead, bringing it crashing down on the place where the Jotun had been standing.

"Hammer! What the fuck are you doing?!" Tony's enraged shout fell on deaf ears. The poleaxe glinted wickedly as it sliced through the air and struck the ground with a heavy _thunk_. The blade sunk several inches into the rain softened ground and stuck there, while the Jotun stood just off to the side, having easily dodged the strike. Still, he breathed heavily and the strained expression on his face betrayed the cost of his movements.

Hammer struggled with the embedded axe for a few embarrassing moments before giving up on it and advancing on the Jotun bare handed.

"Stand down Hammer!"

The MCS swung a large, mechanical arm, trying to swat the Jotun like a fly. Fluid as water, the blue skinned man ducked out of the way and backed up several paces, putting the campfire between himself and the suit. That he was exhausted beyond measure was clear to see. Tony watched as he stumbled and fought desperately with his own body to remain standing. He shook his head and blinked rapidly, lifting a hand to rub his eyes, smearing mud over his face. Between watching the MCS and struggling to stay on his feet, the man had no energy left to guard his unprotected back. Tony almost felt sorry for him as another of his men approached from behind, lashed out with a knife braced fist and struck the Jotun solidly in the side of the head. He fell hard and without a sound, taking the brunt of the fall on his shoulder. As he hit the ground he rolled and long legs caught his attacker behind the ankles, sweeping his feet out from under him.

The guy was good, Tony grudgingly acknowledged, watching as he rolled to his feet. Good, but greatly outnumbered and handicapped by his injury. It was only a matter of time before he was subdued.

Several of the men tried to flank him, forcing the Jotun closer to the fire. Tony saw him wince and wondered if there was truth in the tales that those blue skinned people from the frozen north were sensitive to heat.

"Surrender and we can stop this before it goes any further!"

The man heard him, turned his head and cast a desperate glance his way. "I _cannot_."

Ever one to take advantage of another person's moment of weakness, Hammer drove the MCS over the fire, scattering coals and smouldering logs, lashing out again with its robotic arm. This time the Jotun wasn't fast enough to avoid it, and the blow struck him in the side, tossing him to the ground a few feet away.

Tony heard what had to be the cracking of ribs and winced in sympathy. Spurred on by the cheers of the men, Hammer advanced and lunged again. The Jotun rolled along the ground, narrowly avoiding the strike and ending up on his hands and knees. He breathed harshly and a lock of lank, matted hair stuck to his face. Slowly he rose, left arm cradling his injured ribs. His face had the hunted look of a wild animal stuck in a trap, and he bit down on his lower lip as a handful of men began to close in from behind. With Hammer and the MCS in front of him and the men behind fanning out to surround him, there was nowhere to go. The MCS raised its arm for another strike and all Tony could see in his mind's eye was the Jotun crushed into a blue smear on the ground.

"Hammer! _Stand down!_ "

The asshole heard him, Tony knew it. There was a moment's hesitation where he visibly debated whether or not to follow orders, then the metal limb came down. With no room to move and nowhere to go, all the Jotun could do was raise his arms defensively and brace for impact. The mechanical arm hit with a sickening crunch and the Jotun crumpled, falling soundlessly to the ground. Fearing he'd been killed, Tony took a step forward and sighed with relief when he saw the Jotun was still clinging to life, writhing weakly in the mud. Tony wasn't sure why the man's life mattered so much to him. He was a stranger and his people were no allies. It was just a strange feeling in his gut that something significant would be lost if this man died here tonight.

A hiss of steam, the MCS whined as it raised a metal plated foot, ready to stomp the Jotun into oblivion. Without thinking, Tony drew the revolver from the holster at his hip and fired a single shot into the air. Ringing silence followed the roar of the gunshot.

"Justin Hammer, you stand down and get the _fuck_ out of that machine, or I swear to god the next bullet will be fired at your head!"

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. All eyes were on Tony. The MCS remained frozen in place, one foot raised off the ground and hovering over the helpless man below. To reinforce his words, Tony clicked back the hammer on the gun and aimed it at the suit's cockpit. From this range, there was no way he'd miss. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Hammer called his bluff. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Son, you better do what the man says." A drawling voice came from the direction of the officers' tents.

Tony was both relieved and aggravated to see the bald headed, heavyset man making his way towards them. Obadiah Stane, his father's right hand and Tony's personal babysitter on this mission. The relief came from the knowledge that Hammer would obey Stane. The aggravation, along with a great deal of resentment, came from having to be bailed out by the older man. Again. It didn't help that he'd be losing a great deal of respect in the eyes of his men, either. Poor little Tony Stark, needs his daddy to take care of business for him. Fuck that.

"Obie." He muttered as Stane came to stand beside him.

"Tony." Stane smiled, as though he didn't know exactly what was going on in Tony's head. "What are you doing?" Spoken very softly, so no one else would hear.

"Preventing an unnecessary murder in my camp." Tony said just as quietly, gun still held steady.

"Tell me you are aware of what that man is."

"I know what he is."

"Then you know his people are savages who will stab you in the back as soon as look at you."

"I know this is the first Jotun sighting this far south in nearly thirty years, and that the reason for his being here could be very interesting. I also know that he speaks Migardian with an _Asgardian_ accent, which raises a lot of questions that will be much more easily answered with him _alive_."

Stane raised his eyebrows and made a sound of surprised approval. "I'm impressed."

Tony wished the sentiment could instil something more than bitterness within him. He raised his voice and made a curt gesture with the barrel of the revolver. "Hammer, shelf that suit, _now_." He holstered the gun and turned his attention on the rest of the men. "The rest of you, stand down. Show's over."

With Rhodes there to encourage them, the men drifted away in twos and threes, murmuring amongst themselves over the night's entertainment. After sending a resentful glare Tony's way, Hammer moved away from the fallen Jotun. He wrenched the poleaxe out of the mud and collapsed it for storage, attaching it to the magnetised straps on the suit's back. The ground rumbled underfoot as the MCS stomped away, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted. Now to figure out what to do with his unexpected guest.

He strode across the campsite, carefully stepping over scattered coals as he drew closer to the fallen man's side. Stane followed him like a large, bulky shadow. The blue man lay on his side with his eyes closed, right arm stretched away from his body, the other curled over his ribs. He gave no outward indication that he was aware of Tony and Stane's presence, but Tony could _feel_ him listening.

"Looks pretty banged up. What are you gonna do with him?"

"Patch him up as best I can. He's no use to me dead."

"Hm." Stane made a noncommittal noise in his throat and prodded the man in the back with the toe of his boot.

The Jotun man flinched and ducked his head, drawing up his knees, curling himself into a protective ball. Tony noted, not for the first time, that not once throughout the ordeal had the man voiced acknowledgment of his pain. A tough bastard, no doubt about that.

"I still think you're making a mistake." Stane nudged the man harder, seeming to find pleasure in making him writhe.

It made Tony sick to see it. He had to get Stane away from him, now. "Concern noted. If it still troubles you when we get back to Central, you can take it up with my father. Until then, _I_ am in command, and you won't question my orders again." He glanced sharply at Stane. "Dismissed."

Stane stared at him for a long time, then shrugged as though there'd never been anything of concern in the first place. "Sir." His voice held just the right amount of deference to make it mocking. He cast one last, unpleasant look at the Jotun, then turned sharply and strode off in the direction of his tent.

Finally alone and relieved to be so, Tony stepped around the injured man's body and crouched down so that he would be in his line of sight.

"Can you hear me? They're gone now."

The man didn't reply, but his eyes opened and Tony was struck anew by the oddness of their colour. Even the sclera was red, and the iris was like a ruby. He met that otherworldly gaze and felt a shiver run down his spine. For a long time neither of them spoke. Tony wasn't sure what to say, and the other man seemed to be trying to stare through his skull to read his thoughts as they formed in his brain.

"Why did you save me?" Finally, the Jotun spoke, his words still carefully formal.

Tony shrugged, trying for casual but not quite getting there. "Seemed like the right thing to do."

The Jotun snorted disdainfully, calling bullshit without even having to speak.

"Alright, you got me." Tony held up his hands briefly, a gesture of surrender. "I think you, and the things you know, could be useful to me. I just want to talk."

"I am to be your prisoner, then."

"I prefer 'guest'."

Another eloquent snort.

"My only other option is to leave you to them." Tony nodded in the direction of his men who were watching intently from a distance.

"It seems I am without a choice." Dull resignation.

Tony offered a faint smile. "There's always a choice. Sometimes only one smart one, though."

Red eyes lowered and something that looked a lot like pain ghosted over the man's face as he nodded once.

"Let me help you up --"

"No." The refusal was filled with fire and pride, and his expression became one of fierce determination as he uncurled from his protective ball and began to drag himself to his feet. His movements were slow and agonising to watch, but he almost made it before his legs gave out beneath him and he fell into a crumpled heap. Biting down on his bottom lip, he made a second attempt. This time he barely made it to his knees before he collapsed, right arm instinctively coming down to break his fall. The impact made him cry out, a guttural scream filled with pain and despair, reminding Tony that the arm was most likely broken. Shit.

The man lay where he'd fallen, shoulders shaking under the heavy cloak as he muttered brokenly in Asgardian. It should have been pitiful seeing a grown man cry, but it wasn't. It was heart breaking and it brought every protective instinct within Tony rushing to the surface.

"Come on. Easy now." There was no more resistance as he helped the man unfold from where he'd fallen and guided his good arm over his shoulders, carefully easing him up from the ground. The movement brought a strangled groan from deep inside the man's chest, ending with a hiss of air through tightly clenched teeth.

It was difficult - the man was a good few inches taller than Tony and practically a dead weight - but he managed to get him to his feet. "Okay, need you to walk now. It's not far. Then you can rest." Tony could feel the eyes of his men boring into his back as he half carried the Jotun man across the camp to his tent. He ignored them, and before long they were safely inside and out of sight.

A single gas lantern was burning low on a stand by the door, and by its light Tony guided them inside, letting the other man sink to the floor on a pile of furs near the centre of the tent. He left him there for a moment, moving quietly as he lit up a few more lanterns, and soon the inside of the tent was filled with a warm golden glow. When he turned back to the Jotun, he found him sitting up, watching him through baleful red eyes.

"Is this the part where you interrogate me?"

"No, this is the part where I take a look at your injuries."

For some reason that information made the Jotun hunch his shoulders and fold in on himself, wrapping his cloak firmly around his body. Tony frowned, already starting to regret his decision to help the guy. He just knew he was going to make this as difficult as possible.

"Okay first, we need to lose the cloak."

"No."

"It's soaked through and covered in mud, you'll catch your death wearing it."

A stubborn glare was his only reply. God, it was like dealing with a child.

"I'll give it back once it's dry. But right now you need to take it off so I can see to your injuries." Tony couldn't see what the problem was. Surely he wasn't being unreasonable?

The Jotun just stared at him, thin lips pressed tightly together. As Tony watched, he began to sway very slightly back and forth and his eyes seemed to lose focus every few seconds.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Losing patience with the standoff when the guy so very obviously needed help, Tony strode towards him and grabbed the front of the cloak, meaning to take it by force. He wasn't counting on the Jotun fighting back with as much strength as he did and as a result, retaliated with a good deal more power than he'd intended. For a moment they wrestled over the heavy expanse of cloth - the blue man was slippery as an eel! - until Tony managed to get a hold on his undamaged arm. Apparently forgetting that his other arm was broken, the man lashed out with it, reeling back with a choked howl of pain when Tony blocked the strike.

After that there was no more resistance. The offending cloak was removed and hung from a hook to dry, and the Jotun was left wearing a dark coloured, long sleeved tunic over a pair of black leather pants. While he was up, Tony collected his first aid kit, a bowl, a couple of water canteens, an old shirt and a knife. He returned to find the Jotun was visibly trembling, and Tony didn't think it was from the cold. He looked at his reluctant charge and sighed.

"You got a name?"

The question seemed to take the man by surprise. He blinked and looked up at Tony, searching his face for the trap in the words. When he couldn't seem to find one, he nodded warily. "Yes."

Tony waited, but apparently no more was coming. God, did everything have to be a battle with this guy? "Well?" Still nothing. "What is it?" He prompted, trying not to let his frustration show.

"... My name is Loki."

"Loki. See, was that so hard? I'm Tony."

A small nod of acknowledgement. Tony made a mental note not to expect any kind of fulfilling conversation from his new friend.

"Okay Loki. Gonna need you to take off that shirt too so I can get to your arm."

A look of alarm crossed over that mud covered face before Loki could hide it. He glanced at the doorway, then at Tony and drew his bottom lip in between his teeth. Finally, he carefully rolled up the right sleeve of his shirt and offered the bare forearm to Tony, silently pleading for it to be enough. It would have to do. Tony had heard of body shame before, but this was ridiculous. Did the Jotun think a bit of blue skin was going to offend him? Still, unless he wanted to force the guy and risk hurting him again, there was nothing to be done for it. And that arm really needed attention.

First things first. He had to clean all the mud and grime away so he could get a good look at the injury. Tony uncapped one of the canteens and filled the bowl with water, then used the knife to rip a strip of cloth off the shirt. All the while, Loki watched him warily, as though he expected an attack at any moment. The intense scrutiny set Tony on edge and he glanced up, hoping to put the Jotun at ease.

"Just gonna clean it up to start with. Nothing bad, I promise."

Loki just frowned at him, so Tony sighed and got to work. Very gently, he braced the slender wrist with one hand and used the other to carefully start cleaning away the mud. Every touch made Loki flinch, but he didn't protest or try to pull away. Thankfully, he seemed to have understood that Tony was trying to help him. The process revealed a smooth, hairless blue forearm, marked with slightly raised lines of a paler blue, running parallel to one another, seemingly at random. At another time, Tony might have wondered about the markings and what they meant, but right now his attention was firmly centred on the task at hand.

The arm was very obviously broken. No bone had pierced the skin, but there was a sickening looking bump on the underside of the arm where it was clearly misaligned. It made Tony feel queasy in his gut just to look at it. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He was no healer by any stretch of the word, but the only medic he would trust without question to tend to Loki was back at Midgard Central. The field medic assigned to this mission was barely qualified, and Tony personally wouldn't take a sick dog to see him. So it was up to him. He'd taken a first aid course a few years ago, and it had briefly touched on everything from how to treat concussion, stitch up wounds, and how to set a broken bone. He knew how to do it. In theory. He'd never actually done it for real.

"Okay." He raised his eyes to Loki's face and saw pain and fear there mixed in equal amounts. "I have to set the bone now, so it'll heal right."

Just like that, all emotion was erased from the Jotun's face. Tony saw his throat bob as he swallowed, and then it was like looking at a stone carving.

"Do it." His voice was flat, betraying nothing.

"Shit ..." Tony muttered and busied himself with pulling several rolls of bandages out of the first aid kit while he worked up his nerve.

_It's okay Tony, you got this._

"Right. Okay." He picked up the knife's leather sheath. "Bite down on this."

Loki fixed him with a look that was neither trusting nor wary, and opened his mouth wide enough for Tony to place the sheath between his teeth. He bit down on it, nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath and turned away. Tony didn't blame him. He wouldn't want to watch, either.

Shifting on his knees into a better position, Tony placed one hand firmly against Loki's shoulder and gripped his wrist with the other. He could feel his heart hammering away in his chest and prayed he wasn't about to fuck this up and do some permanent damage.

"Ready?"

No reply. Taking that for a 'yes', Tony braced with the hand on Loki's shoulder and pulled back sharply with the other. The muffled exclamation of pain was almost a growl and red eyes flashed back to stare at him, too bright in that mud covered face.

"Easy now. That's the worst part over."

The realigned bone lay smoothly under the skin once more, though there was some purplish discolouration around the site that worried Tony. He hoped there was no major internal bleeding. That was beyond his ability to treat.

When he reached up to remove the sheath from Loki's mouth, he noticed the beads of sweat standing out on his brow. He was trembling, too, and the wrist still clasped lightly in Tony's hand was warmer than it should be after a night out in the rain.

"I'll splint this now. Hold this, here."

He pressed the sheath against the underside of his arm and Loki obediently held it in place while Tony wrapped it firmly with bandages. It wasn't an ideal method, but it would do to keep the limb immobile until they got back to civilisation. Tony didn't think Loki would react well to the knowledge that he intended to take him back to the city, so he kept that information to himself and tied off the bandages with a grim smile.

"And we're done."

Those strange eyes dropped to inspect the bound arm, then lifted once more to rest briefly on Tony's face. "You have my thanks."

Loki's gaze skittered away, but not before Tony saw the sheen of pain that glittered on the surface of his eyes. He knew there were other, hidden injuries that he hadn't seen yet. He also knew the Jotun wasn't going to admit to them without a fight.

"No problem. I figure I owed you that much, since it was my man that hurt you in the first place." Tony saw him shrug as he ripped off another strip of shirt. "Can I help you clean up a bit? You look like shit."

The Jotun was a master at combining emotions on his face. Dismay, hurt, prickly defiance, it was all there, brought on by Tony's poor choice of words.

"The mud, I mean. You're covered in ... mud." Well played. Mental note : extremely sensitive about appearance.

"If it pleases you." Loki's face settled back into blankness, but the damage had been done.

Deciding silence was his best ally for now, Tony got to work and bit by bit, the mud was washed away to reveal a face of surprising beauty. High cheekbones, thin lips on a generous mouth, strong jaw, arched brows, long neck, straight nose, with those captivating ruby red eyes as the centrepiece. Beneath the tangled black hair his ears were pointed at the tips, and combined with the blue skin, paler blue markings and black horns curving back over his brow, Loki was, quite easily the most amazing thing Tony had ever seen.

He was also badly injured, and ailed by more than just pain. His eyes were fever bright, his skin hot and clammy, his body shuddering with faint tremors. With all the mud cleaned away, Tony could put it off no longer.

"So are you ready to tell me now?"

Loki's eyes were a fraction too slow moving to his face. "Tell you what?"

"What other injuries you're hiding. I know you've probably got at least a couple of cracked ribs, but you were hurt before you entered camp." Tony made his voice firm, with no room for argument. "Show me."

That hunted animal look came back into Loki's expression. He wrapped his good arm around his chest and glanced once more from Tony to the door and back again. "I cannot. Please. Don't make me."

"You've got a fever. Something's making you sick, I can't ignore that."

" _Please_." Softly pleading. "It's nothing."

"What's the big deal? Why are you hiding?" Tony had come across plenty of the macho types in his time - the kind of person who denied pain so they didn't appear weak, but this didn't seem like the same thing. There was something deeper here, something more.

"Run ..." Loki whispered and closed his eyes. He began rocking again, slowly back and forth, and the arm wrapped around himself pulled tighter. "Cannot let anyone see ..."

"See what?" Tony reached out to grasp his shoulder and Loki flinched away with a hiss, eyes flaring open once more. "Loki, tell me."

Loki shook his head desperately and muttered something in Asgardian. Tony wasn't exactly fluent in the language, but he spoke it passably well. Enough that he picked up the word 'freak' from Loki's mutterings.

"You're not a freak." Tony reined back his frustration, forcing himself to keep his voice calm and soothing. "You're far from home, among strangers and you're hurt. But I want to help you. Please, let me help you."

When Loki looked at him, his expression was one of shamed resignation. He looked like a man condemned. "My back." His voice was barely loud enough to hear. "Whipped."

Thank god, finally an answer. What was so hard about that? Maybe it was a Jotun thing. Tony didn't know, but he was glad to have something to do again. He wasn't so good at talking people through their problems. He was much better at fixing things through physical action. A whipping shouldn't be too bad. Might need a few stitches, nothing he couldn't handle. That didn't explain the fever, but he'd take what he could get for now.

"Alright. Your back. Good. Will you let me look at it?"

Loki nodded minutely. His head was bowed, his eyes downcast.

"Thank you." Tony spoke softly, treating the Jotun as he would a wild animal. No loud noises, no sudden movements. "I'm gonna help you get this shirt off now, okay?"

No response. Since that was starting to become the norm around here, Tony paid it no heed. He reached out and closed his fingers around the filthy, rain soaked cloth of the shirt and began to pull it up, managing to get it halfway up Loki's back before the fabric seemed to catch on something and refuse to go any higher. Loki responded with a snarl that was more animal than man, twisting himself away from Tony and out of reach. There he knelt, hunched over and panting heavily, bracing himself with a hand on the floor. His eyes were wide and owlish, and he looked just as shocked as Tony felt by the sound that had come from his throat.

"I'm sorry." Tony didn't move from his spot on the furs. "Looks like your wounds have bled, the shirt's stuck to your skin."

Another wary nod. "There was no time to tend to them." He offered, and very slowly inched his way back across the floor until he was within arm's reach once more.

"Okay. I'll be more careful this time."

True to his word, Tony took much greater care when he raised the hem of the shirt a second time. When he reached a patch that was stuck to Loki's skin, he dunked a rag in the water bowl and used it to gently soak through the crusted blood until it gave way. It took some time, but eventually he was able to ease the shirt up and over Loki's head. There was a moment's confusion when it tangled in his horns, then it was off.

"There, that wasn't so bad --"

Loki fumbled one handed with the bundle of cloth, franticly trying to cover his chest. Of course, that drew Tony's attention, and his words faltered when he saw the breasts Loki was so desperate to hide.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" He looked away so quickly he felt his neck twinge in protest. Damn! Jotunheim bred their women masculine! "I didn't realise -- I mean, I thought you --"

"You need not trouble yourself with guilt." Bitterness laced that velvety voice. "I am no maiden whose honour you have besmirched." There was a wet slap as the shirt was tossed away in disgust. "Just a freak ..."

"Stop saying that, you're not --" Tony paused, and turned back so he could look Loki in the face. "You're not a freak."

"Oh? Perhaps 'monster' suits me better?"

"You're not a monster!"

Loki laughed bitterly and made a gesture that encompassed his body. "Am I imagining this form, then? Pass me a mirror, so that I might see my true face."

Tony didn't know what to say. Since Jotunheim closed its borders, its people had become something out of story. Bogeymen figures to scare naughty children into behaving. Inhuman creatures that snatched women in the night, for warriors to conquer and boast about their prowess in battle. Monsters.

As though he could read Tony's thoughts, Loki gave a pained smile and turned away, hunching over, hiding his body as best he could. Tony needed air. He rose abruptly, taking the bowl of muddy water with him.

"Stay there. I'll be back in a moment."

The only response Loki gave was to lower his head further, letting clumps of long matted hair fall about his face. Satisfied that he wouldn't do anything stupid like try to escape, Tony took the bowl and strode out of the tent.

Outside, the misty rain had stopped falling and the scattered coals of the fire had been raked back into a tidy heap. The majority of the men had retired for the night, but a few still sat around, talking quietly with one another. One of those still up was James Rhodes. He excused himself from the soldier he was speaking with and strode across the camp to meet Tony.

"How's it going in there?"

"Fine. We're fine." Tony upended the bowl into the drainage ditch beside his tent. "Well, he's pretty busted up, but I'm on it."

Rhodes frowned, clearly not happy with his answer. "I don't like you being in there alone with him. Hurt or not, he's combat trained. What if he tries something?"

"Rhodey, your concern is a ray of sunshine in my heart, but it's unnecessary. Right now a kitten could knock this guy over. I'll be fine."

"Last time you said that, you burned off your eyebrows and half your hair."

Tony snorted and flashed a quick grin. "And it all grew back, right? See, fine." He slapped Rhodes on the shoulder. "Don't worry, daddy's got this all under control. You should get some sleep. Early start in the morning. The Widow'll eat us alive if we're late."

Rhodes chuckled. "Now that's a truly worrying thought."

"Damn right. G'night Rhodey."

"Be careful, Stark."

"Always." Tony ducked back into his tent and fastened the flap.

Loki was exactly where he'd left him, hiding his face from the world. Tony decided that the best way to proceed was to act as if nothing was wrong and focus on the more important matter of Loki's health. Now that was something worth worrying about. He crossed the floor quietly, sat down behind his patient and refilled the bowl with clean water. When Loki had told him he'd been whipped, Tony had expected a few lash marks, maybe something that would need a couple of stitches. He had not been prepared for the grisly reality that was presented to him.

Whipped? His back looked more like it had been shredded. Dozens of vicious gashes, long and cruel and deep criss-crossed his back like some gruesome abstract art piece. Each one was horribly enflamed, and most seeped with blood and pus. Tony reached out a hand and held it just above the wounds, feeling the heat they gave off. No wonder Loki could barely remain standing! Tony wondered how far he'd travelled in this condition, and what he'd done to end up like this in the first place. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but he bit off the words before they could form. Answers could come later. Right now he had a job to do.

Once again, before Tony could do anything else he had to clean the wounds. That was a lot easier said than done. Loki flinched and hissed with pain every time Tony got too close to one of the wounds. To begin with he kept apologising each time he hurt him, but as the ordeal went on Tony found himself clenching his jaw and grimly carrying out the task in silence. The faster he got this over with, the better. He had to go out and change the water twice, and during those times when he came back inside he could hear Loki murmuring softly to himself in Asgardian. Tony didn't bother trying to translate the words. They obviously weren't meant for his ears.

When he was satisfied that Loki's back was as clean as it was going to get, Tony set the bowl and rags aside and rummaged in his first aid kit until he found a large pot of salve. It was a standard addition to a soldier's kit, used to kill infection and promote the clean healing of open wounds. Tony applied it generously to each of Loki's wounds, counting them mentally as he worked.

_Forty seven, forty eight, forty nine, fifty ..._

He tried to imagine what could cause someone to inflict such brutality on another person, and failed. Punishment? Torture? Once again, Tony found himself wondering where Loki had come from, and how he had ended up here in his camp.

"How're you doing?" Loki had been quiet for a while, so Tony spoke, just to make sure he was still with him.

"Never better."

Well. At least he still had the strength for sarcasm. That had to be a good thing, right? Tony put the salve away and wiped his hands. Now came the hard part. Each and every one of the wounds required stitches. That, at least, Tony had experience with, but the sheer amount needed meant it was going to hurt Loki like a bitch.

"Gonna stitch you up now. I'm sorry, it's going to hurt."

Loki sighed tiredly and shrugged one shoulder. "Get on with it."

Tony got on with it. Using a curved needle, a pair of forceps and a reel of catgut thread, he began the long, meticulous task of stitching Loki back together. It hurt him. As much as he tried to conceal it, he hissed and flinched and swore, and Tony distracted himself from the guilt of causing him pain by imagining what he'd do to the person who'd caused these injuries in the first place. When Loki began to moan softly and sway in place, Tony spoke to him, asking him questions to keep him there and focused.

"Where do you come from?"

"Asgard ..." His voice was strained, and Tony saw the fingers of his left hand dig into his right bicep.

"You were born there?" That was surprising.

"Don't know ..." A shudder. "Don't remember ..."

Tony tied off the end of the suture, cut the thread and moved on to the next gash.

"Didn't you ever ask?"

"Of course I did, I ... No one would ever tell me. Said it didn't matter -- agh!" Loki cried out and flinched violently, almost jerking the thread from Tony's hands.

"Easy," Tony soothed, giving him a moment before continuing with the stitches. "Who did this to you?"

"Never asked his name." He flinched again and lapsed into Asgardian. [Fuck, I can't ... Make it stop. _Please. Please_ Tony --] The words were lost in a sob and a tremor that ran the length of his body. When he recovered enough to speak again, he switched back to Midgardian. "How do you know when it's enough? How do you know when it's okay to lie down and not get back up?"

Tony's hands stilled and something in his chest squeezed painfully. "I don't know." He said quietly. "But I think, if you can still ask that question, then there's enough fight left in you to keep going."

"It hurts to fight. It hurts, and no matter what I do it's never enough. And it always hurts ..." [ _Fuck ..._ ] "I can't ... Fates, I can't ... Please ..." Pain and exhaustion finally got the better of him, and Loki broke down sobbing. Terrible, gut wrenching sobs that shook his whole body.

Afraid someone would hear and come in to find out what was going on, Tony abandoned what he was doing, rose quickly and retrieved a cup from his pack.

"Hold on. Just a bit longer." He murmured, filling the cup with water and adding a pinch of powder from two different vials found in the first aid kit. When the powders had absorbed into the water, he touched Loki's cheek gently to gain his attention, and pressed the cup into his hand. "Drink."

Loki obeyed without hesitation, well past the point where he would refuse anything. His shaking hand meant he spilled a little, but he drank the entire cup. Tony took it back thankfully, hoping a Jotun's physiology wasn't too different to a human's, and that the drugs would have the same effect. He cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner - he could have saved the man a great deal of pain.

It wasn't long before Loki's eyelids began to droop. He blinked rapidly, fighting the drug, even now. "What ...?" His head dropped forward and he struggled to raise it again. "What did you give me?"

"Something for the pain." When Loki slumped to the side, unconscious, Tony was ready to catch him. "And a sleep powder."

After that it was easy work to finish stitching up the lash wounds. When he was done, Tony set the tools aside to sterilise later, and dressed Loki in a clean shirt. He was glad the Jotun was unconscious for that part - he didn't think he'd like being touched so familiarly.

"Sleep now."

With nothing left to do for him, Tony eased Loki down onto his side and covered him with a blanket from his own bed. For a long while he just sat there, listening to the sounds of his breathing and of the rain as it started pattering down on the tent once more. His head was full of questions and concerns, but all that would have to wait until morning. Eventually, Tony kicked off his boots, extinguished the lamps and climbed into bed. It was a long time before sleep came.

 

 


	3. three

 

Loki's sleep was deep and uneasy, caught in a narrow space between fever dreams, exhaustion and the effects of the drug. He woke a little after dawn, confused and soaked in sweat, his mouth so dry it was difficult to swallow. His throat worked laboriously as he struggled to sit up and throw back the stifling blanket. The inside of the tent was dim, a pale beam of morning sunlight filtering in through the half open doorway. There was no one else in sight, though Loki could hear movement and muffled voices from somewhere outside.

His recollection of the night before was fuzzy, like a half remembered dream. Little by little, though, it came back to him, memories prompted by visual stimuli. His splinted and wrapped arm, throbbing painfully, reminded him of Tony, the Midgardian who had saved his life and tended to his wounds. Loki wondered with no small amount of bitterness what the man would ask for in return. In his experience, no one offered kindness to strangers free of charge. Especially not when they were so easily exploitable, as Loki himself now was. Tony had learned a lot about him last night. Things Loki would very much have preferred to keep hidden. What would the human demand in payment for his services, and his silence? How much would Loki be willing, or able, to pay? On the run and with nothing but the clothes on his back and his freakish blue hide, he had very little to work with.

Loki sighed wearily and looked down at himself, realising that he wasn't even wearing his own shirt. Another debt owed. Lips pressed together in a bitter line, Loki dragged himself to his feet. His muscles were stiff and his injured ribs hurt him with every breath. His back felt tight, every little movement pulling the skin in a different place. It ached faintly, and some of the deeper wounds were bright spots of pain, but thanks to Tony's ministrations, it was bearable. He still felt a little feverish, but that too was fading.

Assessment of his injuries over with, Loki turned his attention to the rest of his body. It was the first time really, since all this began, that he'd had the time to actually explore the changes that had taken place.

Hesitantly, he touched one of his horns with his good hand. It was cool beneath his fingertips, and smooth, like polished glass. He followed the curve of it, out from his brow then back over the crown of his head, ending with a wickedly sharp point that pricked the pad of his thumb. He brought the hand down quickly to inspect it, half expecting his blood to be blue as well. It was red.

"Hm."

Absently sucking the drop of blood from his thumb, Loki looked down at his body. The shirt he'd been given fit loosely enough that it hid his new curves, but he felt sure that without the protective extra layer of his cloak, anyone who saw him would know him for what he was - a freakish monster, neither man nor woman but an unnatural combination of both. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he touched his collar bones and slowly moved downwards, finding the curve of a breast beneath the folds of cloth. Long fingers closed around it, squeezing with the tiniest amount of pressure before Loki snatched his hand away as if he'd been burned.

By that time he was breathing harshly, grimly ignoring the pain in his ribs. Reluctantly, his hand resumed its explorations. He pressed it to his abdomen, feeling the familiar hard muscles, the flat, lean belly. It was at his hips that his body betrayed him again. They had widened, just enough that he could feel the difference. Sharp angles had become softer curves. His leather pants that had once fit like a comfortable second skin were now just a little bit too tight. Loki brushed his hand over the front of his pants. His manhood, thankfully, was still there, but he was afraid to find out what other changes his body might have undergone. He bit down on his lower lip as he slipped his hand under the hem of his shirt, finding the waistband and the laces of his pants. Ever so slowly, his fingers crept under the leather, seeking --

"Hey, you're awake."

Loki jerked his hand away at the sound of the voice behind him. Shamed heat flushed his cheeks and it was a moment before he felt able to turn around and face Tony. When he did, his expression was guarded, bordering on hostile, and the human knew right away that something wasn't right.

"Everything okay?" Tony shifted his stance slightly, ready to react if Loki chose to attack him.

For a fleeting moment Loki considered it - if he could get by Tony, he might be able to slip out of camp before the rest of the Midgardians caught on to what was happening. He could run, put some distance between them before they could organise a pursuit ... The idea died before it even had the chance to take root. With new injuries added to the old, he wouldn't get far. And he was tired of running. He sighed, and let the tension flow out of his body.

"Everything is fine."

"Okay. Good. Glad to hear it." Some of the wariness remained in Tony's face, but he relaxed out of his defensive stance. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than I expected to." Loki said with a wryness that surprised himself.

Tony offered a smile in return. "Sorry about that. You looked like you needed it."

A shrug. Loki met the human's large brown eyes and was struck, as he had been the night before, by the genuine warmth that lay within them. Whatever his motives might be, Tony truly cared about his wellbeing.

"It was not unwelcome."

Tony was visibly heartened by the not-quite words of thanks. His smile brightened and he offered the water canteen clasped in his right hand.

"Thought you might be thirsty. That stuff always leaves me feeling like I swallowed sand. Don't worry," He added with a wink, noting Loki's slight hesitation. "It's not drugged."

Loki snorted, amused in spite of himself. This man had a magnetic personality. As much as Loki knew he should be wary of him, he found himself liking him. A potential friend and ally? Perhaps. Not knowing for sure was dangerous territory, but Loki was used to treading carefully.

He accepted the canteen with a nod of thanks and although he tried to act with the decorum that befitted a prince of Asgard, Loki had gone days without water. Some dribbled over his chin as he gulped it down, but it was so good, he found he didn't care.

Tony chuckled. "Go easy, you'll make yourself sick."

"Apologies." Realising he was being rude, Loki awkwardly wiped his chin with the back of his sleeve and held the canteen out for Tony to take back.

The human just laughed again and shook his head. "Hey, knock yourself out. Just don't throw up on my floor. You hungry?"

Bewildered, Loki nodded.

"I'll get you some breakfast. You'll have to eat fast, we're breaking camp soon."

"Thank -- you."

Tony was gone before Loki could get the words out. He looked around the tent and, spotting a folding camp stool, moved to sit down. Even after the much needed sleep, he still felt weak. Having slaked his immediate thirst, he took small sips of water while he waited for Tony's return, and wondered what the Hel he was supposed to do now. Last night, Tony had told him he wanted information. Loki could guess easily enough what kind of questions he would be asked. What he didn't know, was how he was going to answer them when he didn't know the answers himself.

He looked down at his hand, long blue fingers wrapped around the canteen. He'd heard the men last night, heard them refer to him as Jotun. It couldn't be true, could it? He was thirty years old, as near as he could tell, surely he'd have known by now that he was a member of a different race? This had to be a spell of some kind, a curse, something.

_Changeling. Bastard. Freak._

His memory flung accusations at him and somewhere deep inside, a dark haired, green eyed child cowered and knew that he was different.

If he was Jotun, how had he come to be raised by the King of Asgard? How had he appeared to be Æsir all these years, only for that seeming to be broken now? He had no answers, and knew of no one who could give them to him. Odin would know, but he had carried those secrets for thirty years. Loki very much doubted he would give them up free of charge. For what did he have to offer in return? Nothing. He had nothing. He was nothing.

He glanced up, expression guarded as Tony breezed back into the tent, an enamel bowl and spoon held out like a peace offering.

"It's not much." He said apologetically, trading the canteen for the bowl. "We're not exactly living in the lap of luxury out here."

"It is greatly appreciated." Loki assured him. The contents of the bowl - some kind of simple oat porridge by the looks of it, was far from the fare he was used to eating back home. But it was hot and the smell alone made his stomach growl appreciatively. Loki balanced the bowl on his lap and used his left hand to take an experimental bite.

"Good?" Tony raised his eyebrows.

Truthfully, it was rather bland. It was also, in his half starved state, the best thing Loki had ever eaten.

"Wonderful." Seeing the pleased smile on Tony's face was almost as satisfying as having food in his belly. Unsure what to make of that, Loki decided to ignore him and focus on the more important matter of eating.

Tony seemed okay with that. He pottered around the tent for a while, saying nothing while he packed away his belongings. Loki managed to succeed at ignoring him fairly well until the human approached him from behind and gently touched his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Bristling like a startled cat, Loki glared back at him, held in place by the restraining hand.

"I'm sorry." Tony said softly.

Loki heard the clink of something metal, the soft grinding of mechanics, but didn't understand what it meant until the collar was secured around his neck, locked tight and resting heavily against his collar bones. He surged to his feet and the almost empty bowl fell from his lap, forgotten. One desperate step away from the human, two, then he was brought up short. Growling low in his throat, Loki turned to find his collar was attached to the chain held firmly in Tony's hands.

"Is this how you treat all your 'guests'?" Betrayal twisted like a blade in his guts. Loki was horrified to find his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He blinked them away fiercely, disgusted with himself. A friend? He'd been a fool to even think it, and ten times the fool to hope that it might be true. He might have laughed if it wasn't so pathetic.

"I'm sorry." Tony repeated, looking pained. Loki could see two more metal rings - one larger and one smaller - in his hand. "I don't have a choice, the men ..." He sighed. "I have to keep up appearances. For both our sakes."

"Spare me your explanations. You owe me nothing." Acid bitterness in his throat. Loki drew himself up to his full height, chin raised defiantly. If he'd been whole and healthy, he might have tried to fight his way out then. He might even have made it. As it was, he was handicapped by his broken arm. Add to that his other injuries, exhaustion and lingering fever, and he had a recipe for failure. If he was to try and escape now, the best he could hope for was a swift death. Having evaded death by such a small margin last night, Loki had no wish to face it again so soon. He could be patient.

"Finish it." He held out his good arm, almost daring the human to shackle him.

Appearing wary and quite rightly so, Tony carefully fastened the smaller ring around Loki's wrist.

"I truly am sorry. If there was another way ..."

Loki held his silence, letting the accusation in his eyes speak for him. Grim faced, Tony secured the larger ring around his waist, then linked all three with short chains. No doubt his wrists should have been bound together, but the bandages and makeshift splint made that impossible. How inconvenient.

"Stark! Get a move on!" A large shape blocked the sunlight shining in through the doorway. "Day's wasting."

"I'll be right out." Tony's eyes didn't leave Loki's face. He waited until the man outside moved away, then said in a low voice. "I'll do what I can to protect you, but I'm on thin ice here. This'll go a lot smoother for both of us if you don't make a fuss."

"Why ever would I make a fuss?" Loki didn't bother trying to keep the venom from his voice. He didn't resist though, when Tony gestured for him to follow, tugging lightly on his leash. He'd play along until an opportunity for escape arose. Or until he could no longer stomach it. Whichever came first.

Outside, the air was crisp and still. The forest around them was heavy with water, but the rain had stopped falling and the skies above were clear. Loki could feel eyes crawling over him like insects. Last night darkness and mud had been his friends. Now, there was nowhere to hide, his horns and blue face bare for all to see. His only satisfaction came from the uneasy way the men's gazes skittered away when they realised he'd seen them staring. Apparently being glared at by a red eyed monster was intimidating. Loki allowed himself the barest hint of a smile. At least this new form had something going for it.

Tony lead him to a log lying near the smouldering remains of the campfire and told him to sit.

"Do you ride?"

"What?"

"Can you ride a horse, or do I need to make space for you on the supply cart?"

"Of course I can ride." The question was hardly provocative, but Loki took offense to it all the same. He cast a scathing glance up at Tony and was chastened slightly by the genuine unhappiness on the man's face. Not knowing what to do with the unwarranted feelings of guilt prodding at his conscience, Loki turned his eyes to the glowing coals in the fire and cradled his aching right arm.

"Good." Tony said mildly, a myriad of unspoken meaning behind that one word. "I'll have someone organise a horse for you. Wait here until we're ready to go."

Loki ignored him. After a long moment Tony sighed and walked away, raising his voice to direct the breaking of camp.

Loki remained huddled by the dying fire. All around him the camp was a bustle of activity, but he tuned it all out. He did such a good job of it, in fact, that it was long minutes before he realised someone was watching him. Slowly, he raised his head and met the steely gaze of the large, bald headed man from the night before. He stood on the other side of the fire, not just watching Loki, or gawking at his appearance. No, this man was _studying_ him. It made Loki feel vulnerable in a way the others hadn't. He hunched his shoulders and wrapped his good arm protectively about himself, eyes never leaving the big man's face. Of all the humans in the camp, Loki instinctively knew this was the one he should be most wary of.

"You clean up awful nice for a savage." The man drawled, sauntering around the fire to stand closer than Loki was comfortable with. "Collar looks good on you too. Suits you."

Loki's lip curled in a silent snarl and he wondered if he could move quickly enough to tear the man's throat out before anyone else could react. The immediate violence of the thought startled him, but he was already slowly unfurling from his seat on the log when Tony's voice cut across the camp.

"Obadiah! There a problem?"

Loki froze in place. The big man glanced at him knowingly, then smiled at Tony.

"I think your new pet wants to take a bite out of me."

"Leave him be."

"Alright." Obadiah shrugged. "You're the boss." He murmured and turned his eyes back to Loki. "I can think of a much better use for that pretty mouth anyway."

His voice was pitched low, barely loud enough for Loki to hear. He'd been meant to hear it, though. Their eyes met, and Obadiah smirked at him. It took all of Loki's willpower to keep himself from lashing out. When finally the big man moved away Loki sighed with relief and closed his eyes. In that brief exchange, he had seen the tenuous hold Tony had on leadership here. He was afraid of what might happen if that hold should slip. Tony might not be his friend, but he was far from the greatest danger present in this camp.

 


End file.
